Chelsie Drabble Challenge - a collection of CarsonHughes one shots
by onmyside
Summary: The butler and housekeeper are finally a couple after 5 series of "will they, won't they". To celebrate this and to get through dark and rainy and snowy winter, chatelaine-s started the Drabble Challenge over at tumblr. I will collect all the stories I write in this one file. They will not necessarily be related to each other but they have Carson/Hughes as main characters in common
1. Beginning

_A/N A response to the Chelsie 30 Day Drabble Challenge on tumblr. You know that I haven't written a thing in ages and that my last fic is on hiatus (still) so please be nice to me and remember that publishing a new fic is not easy for me (and I'm really afraid no one will read/like this anyway). Thank you 100000000times to kouw how is an amazing friend and beta. I'd be lost without you._

**DAY 1 - BEGINNING**

* * *

They've all gone to bed an hour ago after the celebrations downstairs were over. All the cleaning, tidying up, sorting out the stemware and cutlery in the scullery can wait until Christmas morning. She has granted her staff an early night but she has not taken the lead and gone up to her room early, too.

Instead she stays in her sitting room. Alone. No one can disturb her now and it feels good to be left alone for a while. She rarely has the opportunity and she needs time to think, to process the conversation she had earlier with Mr Carson. A proposal. At her age. From this man. And she had agreed, without a second thought or hesitation. He wants her to be his wife, to share the rest of his life with her by his side. In a home of their own, a place where everything from the chair to the table to the cutlery will belong to them.

She sits at her desk, looks at old pictures, her ledgers, letters he sent her during the London Season over the past twenty years. She wants to understand what it means to be engaged, needs to embrace this feeling inside her, the excitement, the butterflies. The clock on the mantlepiece chimes one o'clock. It is the only sound and she almost jumps, so much has she been engrossed in her thoughts. It is time for her to go upstairs and find some sleep.

But sleep does not come. She lies awake for ten minutes, twenty, and longer. In the darkness it is difficult for her to read the hands on the small alarm clock on her nightstand, a gift from him, three Christmases ago. It must be well past two o'clock and she is not even tired. There are still so many thoughts she cannot process. She is happy, overcome by emotions, ready to jump up and go to his room and tell him 'yes I will' over and over again. The restlessness is disturbing but wonderful at the same time.

She sighs and turns over, stares at the closed door, wants him to appear there and tell her that she does not have to worry about anything anymore. He will take care of her. She will look after him and they will write a new chapter of their life together. It is a new beginning, an unexpected one but the most wonderful Christmas gift she has ever received.

Her eyes close, the lids heavy with sleep. She finally drifts off into the land of dreams when her door opens. Heavy footsteps cross the small distance between the door and her bed. The mattress dips down when he sits down to look at her.

"You are here," she mumbles sleepily.

"I couldn't sleep," he whispers.

"I know."

She makes room for him in the small bed. Does not even think about how inappropriate this is: the butler in her room at night. He has probably used the women's staircase to enter the other side of the sleeping quarters. But they are engaged now, she has seen him cry, seen him wear his heart on his sleeve. They are different people now. Braver, bolder. This is a risk she is ready to take.

"I can't stay." He strokes her cheek. "But I needed to see you."

"Just for a bit." She is only half awake.

He hesitates but then lies down next to her, embraces her, holds her close. The restlessness is gone. She feels whole now, ready to begin this new life. Together they fall asleep and when the kitchen maid knocks on her door in the morning he is still there and it feels right.

* * *

TBC

thank you for reading and I would be a very happy writer if you could leave me a review! thanks.


	2. Accusation

_A/N Thank you soooo much for all your wonderful reviews, likes and reblogs. I'll reply to the reviews when I find the time. Writing still doesn't feel like "me" again but I'm getting there. Thank you for your support! Thank you kouw for helping me with this one. love you._

**DAY 2 - ACCUSATION**

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Nobody could accuse Elsie Hughes of being a sentimental sort of person.

As a girl, working on a farm had taught her the hardships of life and that everything happened for a reason. Lambs died when mothers rejected them, injured sheep were killed (and not cared for until they eventually got better). Not all kittens of a litter survived. Her father drowned the ones he had no use for. Animals were not there for them to enjoy but to help them make a living, to survive. The same applied to the furniture her family owned. It was practical, not beautiful or treasured because a piece once belonged to some long deceased aunt or uncle. Pretty vases or exquisite crockery were not in their possession. They had no use for it. The Hughes's owned what was necessary and practical.

Her heart had never learned to grow attached to useless, lifeless things or animals. And yet she could not part with the items she had collected over the many years at Downton Abbey.

She took the last framed picture off the wall in her sitting room, looked at it and stored it in one of the boxes. It was a small painting of a coastline, acquired in some shop or other by a former housemaid. The picture was a gift. For her birthday or Christmas. She could not remember. It reminded her of Scotland. That was why she had kept it. Now it went into an unlabelled box and would be taken away to her new home. Elsie was not even sure if she would hang the picture again. Perhaps it was better to leave it stored away. After all, she was about start a new life.

The room was empty now except for the furniture which would remain at its place. It was not hers to take, belonged to the estate and would be used by the next housekeeper. Mrs Baxter would appreciate the small desk with the many drawers that could store away an impressive amount of secrets. She would probably use the sturdy table by the door for her sewing machine, replace the old, lopsided bookshelf with a new one.

Things moved on, times changed. They would have a desk similar to the one she'd been working on for decades. It did not matter really. As for their small collection of books, the cottage had a very nice living room with two shelves already mounted to the wall. There was more than enough room for their few possessions.

Andy picked up the last two boxes. "Are these the last ones, Mrs Carson?"

"Yes, thank you Andy. That will be all." She waited for him to leave the room before she took one more look around to make sure she had not forgot anything.

The swivel chair, the cabinet in the corner by the door that, over the years, had kept save the few pieces of fine china she owned. A bit of sunshine streamed through the high window, illuminated the corner of the room where she used to sit and read. The old green chair with the worn armrests looked like the most comfortable place although the springs needed to be replaced and the upholstery renewed. Mr Carson had often fallen asleep in it after a long day. She smiled at the though.

"Andy," she called, "There is one piece I forgot!"

The footman was just by the door, set down the two boxes he was carrying and returned to the sitting room. "What is it?"

"I forgot the armchair."

It was true, nobody would accuse her of being sentimental. But maybe she was, if only just a tiny bit.

* * *

TBC

If you like what you've read then please let me know :), thanks. Typos? Let me know.


	3. Restlessness

_A/N AAAAND this is day 3. I am one day behind but... who cares :) I hope you like this one. Somehow I cannot get away from THAT scene and THAT night. Thank you again to kouw who is an amazing beta and tells you in da face when something doesn't make sense instead of going "well, actually... you know." and not getting to the point ;). mwah. love you!  
_

**DAY 3 - Restlessness**

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He was up early, too early. No one had yet knocked on his door to wake him. He could have slept another hour or even an hour and a half. There was absolutely no need to be awake already. He checked his alarm clock. Half past four. Not even the kitchen maids were up. But it was impossible for him to go back to sleep now. And while he was already wide awake, why not get up, dressed and start the day early. Yes, that would be the best thing. Some work before breakfast, have everything in order before the Christmas festivities started. That would most certainly distract him.

It did not. Downstairs it was dark and cold, and although the range in the kitchen was already lit, he couldn't ask a maid to make tea for him because he could not find any of the girls. They were probably upstairs, doing god knows what. He had to wait for Mrs Patmore to come downstairs. And she was one of the people he _most wanted_ to avoid meeting so early in the day. The cook would ask questions. Lots of questions. And up to a point he could ignore her and not answer them. But then she had that ability to get on his nerves so much that, after a certain time, he could no longer pretend he did not hear her.

So no tea then for him. At least the temperature in his pantry was bearable. Maybe he would stop thinking about _her_ once he had actually started working. He sat down behind his desk and opened the wine ledger to check the selection for the day. His Lordship had asked for something special with dinner tonight. After all, it was Christmas day! On a sheet of paper, he had listed three different wines for the evening. He only had to decide which year was the appropriate choice… First the Margaux. Damn, that was the one he had shared with her when they talked about the cottages.

He was a mess. Ever since last evening he could only think of her: how she had smiled at him when she had accepted his proposal; the way she had lovingly called him _booby_; her hand caressing his arm. The moment they had shared in his pantry was short but perfect. Afterwards work had determined the rest of the evening. They had not exchanged a single word in private ever since.

So of course his night had been restless. He desperately needed to see her and talk to her. There were so many things he needed to say. And there was the ring. Which was still lying upstairs on top of his bedside table... He closed his eyes for a moment, angry with himself that he forgot the most important thing! The plan he had come up with during the night had been so perfect: meet her in the morning, before everyone else could of course, invite her into his pantry, give her the ring, maybe kiss her (he was not so sure about that part of the plan), tell his Lordship about them, tell everyone else.

He should have known that this would not work. Angrily he pushed back his chair and stormed out of his pantry towards the stairs.

"Careful! You almost ran me over."

She sounded so cheerful, so happy that he was speechless for a moment. First of all: what was she doing here already? And secondly, well, why was she in such a good mood when he was nervous, restless and irritated?

"Good morning to you too."

She smiled at him while he just stared at her before he found his speech again.

"Good morning." He attempted a smile. This was not part of his plan _at all_.

"Well, I won't ask why you are already awake and down here but it would be lovely if you could let me pass." Only then did he realize that she stood on the second to last step and that he was in her way.

"Oh, I am sorry, excuse me Mrs Hughes." He stepped aside and continued to climb the stairs when he realized that whatever he wanted to do (get the ring, that had been it), could wait. He took a deep breath and turned around. She was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him expectantly. "Actually, would you mind waiting in my pantry for a few minutes?"

"Of course not."

He had never climbed the stairs that fast and when he arrived back downstairs, he was completely out of breath and had to pause for a while before he could go on. Now his plan would finally come to life.

* * *

tbc

(reviews are always much appreciated and help me get through the day! thanks!) (and maybe I should tackle the T rating in the next prompt...)


	4. Snowflake

_A/N Thank youuuu my wonderful lovely kouw for your amazing beta work :-*. And thank you all for your reviews! They make me happy, the brighten my day, they make me feel so much better. Now, I was told that revfrog wrote about Elsie catching snowflakes on her tongue... believe it or not: I had this scene in my fic without having read revfrogs version of this chelsie prompt. So, revfrog: I'll read yours now and everything else too 3._

**DAY 4 - SNOWFLAKE**

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Yorkshire seldom saw a proper winter with ankle deep snow, frozen lakes and frostwork on the windowpanes. It had been cold during the days leading to Christmas but that was the winter weather everyone was accustomed to. Cold and damp, rain on some days and harsh winds on others. Christmas 1902 did not look as if it would turn into a winter wonderland, especially not over night.

Carson was glad about that because it meant less work for all of them and more time to prepare Christmas dinner and the surrounding festivities; both for the servants, and the Crawleys. He closed the ledgers he had been working on all evening and exstinguished the paraffin lamp on his desk. Time to retire for the night. Outside his door he heard the only other person still awake, Mrs Hughes, Elsie, the new houskeeper. She had held the position of head housemaid at Downton for the past two years before taking over from Mrs Turner. After the London season, the retired housekeeper had handed over the keys to their new owner. It was their jingling he was hearing now.

But the sound was moving in the wrong direction, away from the stairs, towards her sitting room. And a new sound mingled with her familiar footfall, the back door opening and closing.

-x-x-x-

She had seen the first snowflakes through the kitchen window. Little white specks of snow, hitting the windowpane, covering the ground in the backyard like a freshly laundered blanket. Actually, she had wanted to make a cup of tea. She often read her books in bed after work and a hot cup of tea helped her sleep easier. But the snow was more important than her nightly routine. On her way to the backyard, she took her shawl from the coat rack by the door before she stepped outside.

The night suddenly did not seem so dark and unfriendly anymore now that the heavy snowfall covered the entire ground around her. She tilted her head upwards, closed her eyes and enjoyed the cold sensation the flakes caused when they touched her face. Soon her shoes were covered with snow, so were her shoulders and her hair, she should have felt the wet cold seeping through her clothes. Instead she laughed out loud, turned on the spot and danced through the falling snow. It was such a wonderful, freeing feeling.

-x-x-x-

He observed her from where he stood on the doorstep by the back door, hidden in the darkness. At first he wanted to call out her name, stop her from getting all cold and wet. But when he saw what she was doing, he decided to wait a little before revealing his presence. His own tenseness, that always went along with the Christmas preparations, lessened. Even the fact that they all had more work now due to the snow, was unimportant. Seeing her so happy, so carefree, filled his heart with joy. When she arrived at Downton two years ago, she was only another housemaid - or so he thought. But after her first month, Carson knew that Elsie was different. She was strong, unsentimental and yet kind. She brought a smile to his face whenever they talked. He made him (almost) forget Alice.

He heaved a sigh and shook his head. Being sentimental was not like him. And he should bring his housekeeper back inside now before she caught a cold. Carson, stepped out into the backyard but before he reached Mrs Hughes, the woman had laid down in the snow to make a snow angel.

"Mrs Hughes! You'll catch your death!" he shouted.

She only turned her head to look at him but continued to move her arms in legs. "Oh, Mr Carson, allow a Scottish lass some fun."

"Your clothes are all wet now."

"It does not matter. I have another dress and this one'll be dry by the time I need it again." She sat up and reached for his hand.

Glad that she had decided to listen to him, he took it to help her onto her feet and was surprised when she pulled him down towards her. He fell into the fresh snow.

"Give it a try." She laughed at him.

He was about to say that he would not join in her silly game but that bright smile changed everything. Carefully he lay down and moved his arms and legs. He had never done this before, not even as a child.

"Like this?"

"Perfect."

It felt weird to lie in the middle of the backyard in the cold and wet snow but at the same time. He hadn't had that much fun for at least twenty years. Soon they both lay next to each other, smiling, laughing, exhausted.

"Thank you Mrs Hughes, that was wonderful."

"My pleasure, Mr Carson. But now we should go back inside. I'll make us a cup of tea."

Elsie Hughes had always been one for surprises.

* * *

TBC

Still not T-Rating. sorry. I am sure this will happen one day... there are still 26 prompts to write ;)


	5. Flame

_A/N wow, I skipped Day 5 and wrote for the day 6 prompt instead because kouw had this brilliant SPAM mail earlier and it was too good. This is an AU fic and it is a bit T. I cannot write M. I am not good at it. But you get a tiny bit of T. Enjoy and let me know what you think. THANK YOU!  
_

**DAY 6 - FLAME**

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Charles sat at his desk. The new Macbook open in front of him. He had already turned it on, successfully managed to make it through the first set up (without destroying anything) and was now entering his personal data as well as choosing a name for the new computer. He had accomplished all of this so far without Elsie's help (something he was really proud of).

"Name? Why do you need a name? You're a computer." He stared at the screen. The empty white box with the blinking cursor seemed to stare back at him. Charles searched for a button he could press to stop this unnecessary process. But there was only a grey box labelled _continue_ below the empty white input field. He tried to click it but nothing happened.

"So you really want me to give you a name, do you?" Charles shook his head in disbelief. Then he looked around the room. Maybe he could name it after something that lay on his desk like _pen _or _folder. _No, that would be too easy and too silly even for him. His gaze fell on a book Elsie was reading at the moment. A book title would also be a good choice. He gave it a try and typed _fall of giants_ into the empty field. An error message popped up. ONE WORD ONLY, it said. "Stupid thing!" he cursed and tried it again with the word _giant _only. After all, he was a tall man and Elsie often lovingly called him her 'gentle giant'. He smiled at that thought, typed the last letter and the grey _continue_ button turned blue. "Hah!"

Finally he could use his new computer. If it had been up to him, the old one could have lasted for forever. But Elsie had insisted on getting him a Macbook. She also had one and took it with her on every holiday, every short trip, even into bed sometimes (when he was _not_ in it, mind you). His wife was addicted to the little machine (and to her iphone). He on the other hand had gotten along nicely with his old PC but then Elsie had read somewhere that there wouldn't be any more security updates for his old Windows XP software. And now he sat here with this overexpensive silver Macbook trying to understand how it worked.

Charles took a sip of tea before he continued to stare at the desktop. It looked completely different to what he was used to. No symbols anywhere and only a thin grey line at the top of the screen. He moved the cursor across the screen (thankfully Elsie had gotten him a regular mouse. This trackpad-thingie was too complicated for him) and suddenly a bunch of colourful symbols appeared at the bottom. He read the little lables that popped up atop of each one.

"iTunes. No, I don't need that now. Apps, whatever that is. Mail! Hah! That's important!"

He clicked on the symbol and another little window popped up asking him for his e-mail address and password. For a second he panicked. On his old computer, Elsie had set up Outlook for him. The only thing he knew, was his e-mail address so he entered that.

"How am I supposed to remember all the passwords?" He sighed and took one more sip of tea. Then he recalled the small red notebook Elsie often used when working on her computer. It was on the small table, next to her own Macbook. He got up from his chair to get it. Once opened, he saw that she had written down passwords and logins on every page. He searched for the familiar e-mail address, found it and grinned when he read the password: _gentlegiant_.

-x-x-x-

"And? Did you manage on your own while I was out?" She came up behind him and pressed a kiss on the top of his head.

He was still sitting in front of his Macbook, sorting through his mail. "Mmhh. I did. Look, I even got the Mail programme to run."

Elsie put her arms around him and rested her chin on his left shoulder to take a look at what he was doing. He actually _had _managed to set up a computer all by himself. She had taught him well. Despite his reluctance to accept that he needed a new computer, he happily sat in front of the newest model now, moving the cursor of his mouse back and forth between different windows.

"Any problems?" She kissed his cheek, then snuggled closer to him.

"Not yet." Charles deleted an old e-mail, then clicked on one with the title '_Flame's of l ve'. _"Who's this one from? I don't know a man called Harry Miller, do I? And even if I knew him, his spelling is really bad."

"The title sounds suspicious. Maybe it's spam?" Elsie reached for his hand, to take control of the mouse before Charles opened the e-mail. She had installed an anti-spam filter on his old computer but the Macbook did not have such a filter yet. And her husband was known for being very naive when it came to the internet. He believed almost everything he read or saw online. Only the other day he had shown Elsie a video of a new bicycle lane in the London Underground. He had believed it was real until she told him that this was a fake video. Obviously some architects planned to create these lanes but they did not exist (yet).

Before she could reach around Charles to take the mouse, he had opened the e-mail and began to read it out loud. "'_Do you want warm pussy. Follow link to click and get.' _What is this? This is disgusting!"

Elsie reached the trackpad, closed the e-mail and then started to laugh out loud. She had to step away from him because she could not stop.

"What is it?" Charles turned around to look at her.

"Nothing." She gasped for breath. "Just." Another laughing fit came over her. "'_Do you want warm pussy?' _That's the best spam-mail I've read for years." She took a few deep breaths but continued to giggle. "I'm sorry Charles but this is simply too funny."

His expression changed from irritated to amused. "I shouldn't be left alone with a computer, I guess."

"Only if you want warm pussy." Elsie snorted.

Charles got up from his chair and walked over to where she sat, bending down a bit to be able to whisper into her ear. "I could give you warm pussy, you know that."

Elsie blushed and bit her lower lip to refrain from bursting into laughter once again. "Where do I have to click?"

"Here." He pointed to his lips and lowered his head so he could kiss her.

"We should continue this experiment in the bedroom I think." Elsie murmured against his lips.

-x-x-x-

"Are you warm enough now?" He caressed her belly and his hand was precarioulsy close to the spot that was definitely more than warm now, hot even.

"Yes. Though I can never be warm enough, can I?" She kissed him passionately, ran her hand down his side and cupped his bum. He moaned into her mouth and she could feel how ready he was for her.

"Never."

"Then let's get warm together, my gentle giant."

And Charles knew he would never forget the password or the name of his computer ever again.

* * *

TBC (please be nice to me and don't laugh at my meagre attempt for smut)


	6. Companion

_A/N this is ALMOST a drabble :) It is short, I know. There are still 22 prompts left. Longer chapters will pop up here in the next few days :) And thank you so so so so much for your wonderful, precious reviews 3_

**Day 8 - COMPANION**

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She woke from a pleasant, wonderful dream full of sunshine and running barefeet through green meadows dotted with flowers. There was laughter in the air, a joyful and carefree atmosphere that felt like a tight, comforting embrace after a rather stressful day. She closed her eyes again, snuggled deeper into her pillow, ready to return to that dream when a sudden movement behind her almost made her jump.

Elsie opened her eyes and tried to recognize the room she was in. It was dark, still the middle of the night and all she could see was a small bedside table next to her head, the outline of a window with white curtains. Then she noticed that someone was holding her hand, had put an arm around her, pulled her close to his body. A soft sigh next to her ear made her smile and all the confusion was gone. It had not been a dream and she was lying in her new bed with him by her side, exhausted after a long, exciting day, their wedding day.

She carefully entwined their fingers, was mesmerized by her ring when it sparkled in the bit of moonlight that momentarily shone through the window. This piece of jewellery would from this day forward remind her of the beautiful day that lay behind her, of their companionship, their love. She closed her eyes again, exhaled slowly, cuddled closer to him and quickly drifted back to sleep.

He woke when the sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting interesting shadows where it filtered through the lace curtains. For a split second he was confused. It was much too late in the day for him to be still in bed and this was not his room. Then something warm and soft moved at his side and he looked down blearily. Her head rested half on his chest and half on the pillow. She had draped one leg across his possessively. It was their first morning as husband and wife, companions, lovers for the rest of their lifes. How could he forget?

* * *

tbc


	7. Move

_A/N This continues where "Accusation" ended because it felt right. It is a bit longer than yesterday's one-shot and it doesn't make a lot of sense ;). But I had no time to think of something better (and my muse refused to visit. It's Monday. She hates Mondays). Enjoy! And THANK YOU ALL for your wonderful reviews!  
_

**Day 9 MOVE**

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Andy sets down the last box in their new living room, next to the green armchair they've brought over from the main house earlier.

"If there is anything else you need, Mrs Carson, just let me know and I'll organize the transport somehow." The new footman smiles at her. He's kind, gentle, attentive and reminds her of William. She will miss him. And if she's honest with herself, she will miss everyone once they've moved into their cottage. The hustle and bustle before an elaborate dinner, the planning of house parties and the annual bazaar, maids knocking on the door of her sitting room with questions, requests, problems. For such a long time she has lived and worked amongst a large group of people. The only time of the day when she has been truly alone where the hours she was in her bedroom, sleeping. Now they will spend their days only in each others company.

"Thank you Andy. That is very kind of you." She checks the contents of the box briefly, ticks it off her list. Of course she has made a plan, like she always does.

"I'll be off then." He smiles at her once more before he takes off his cap, wishes her a good day and exits through the front door.

She is alone now, truly alone. No one will knock on the door in the next few hours, no one will ask for her help. She has to adapt to a new routine now, void of bells that call for her, early risings and receiving orders. The previous night has been the last she has slept in her room at the Abbey. Tonight they will share a bed for the first time since their wedding night. Until then she has a lot to organize and unpack.

-x-x-x-

He comes home earlier than expected. The sun has not yet touched the horizon but the shadows are already long and the air has cooled down considerably. She has closed the front door but the windows are still open so she hears how the key is turned in the lock, listens to his footfall on the wooden floor in the living room.

"Elsie?" He calls out for her.

"I am upstairs, dear." One last box still needs unpacking: her pictures and the little trinkets she has collected over the years. She has spread them out on the bed, cannot decide where she will put everything. They have so much room now that belongs to them.

"Good evening, love." He stands in the doorway of their new bedroom.

She turns her head, smiles and looks at him, when she hears his voice. "Good evening." He is the only person, aside from Andy, she's seen in hours.

"Are these truly the last things you need to find a place for?" He comes over, stands next to her, puts an arm protectively around her waist. She feels his lips on the top of her head when he kisses her there gently.

"Unless you've brought something else home with you." She picks up the little landscape painting.

"That's beautiful. I never noticed it in your sitting room."

"It was just above my desk. A maid once gave it to me and it reminds me of Scotland." Her thumb brushes away a bit of dust that has gathered on the frame.

"We can put it above our desk. Then you can look at it whenever you write a letter to Becky." He kisses her cheek now, takes the picture from her hands and puts it back on the bed. "Let's decide about the rest of this tomorrow."

His gentle touches, the way he turns her around to face him, the kiss they share, all of this makes her forget that she still has some work to do until their new house looks and feels like home. For now all that matters is that she can enjoy this wonderful certainty that no one will interrupt them. The front door is locked, the curtains drawn. It is only the two of them in their own bedroom, kissing passionately and murmuring endearments. The rest of the day belongs to them and no one else. This is how it will be from now on and it makes her happy beyond description.

* * *

TBC: tomorrrrow (who would've guessed)


	8. Silver

_A/N this one was a tough journey. Please forgive me. And thank you so so so much for your continuous support! 3  
_

**Day 10 - SILVER**

* * *

He was lying in a bed that was much too short for such a tall man. She wondered how he had ever managed to rest in it comfortably. His head touched the headboard, his legs reached down to the end of the mattress. If it had been few centimetres shorter, his feet would hang in mid air. She could made his Lordship order a new bed for him, could argue that his recovery depended on bed rest. But then people adjusted, got used to things after a while. Maybe he did not even notice anymore how ill fitted his bed actually was.

She turned her attention back to readjusting the covers, tucked him in properly again, then felt his temperature by touching his forehead with the back of her hand. He was still burning up and she could do nothing but make sure he took the medicine Dr Clarkson had prescribed and give him tea and water to drink.

Her hand lingered on his forehead for a little longer. She told herself she needed to be sure that his condition was still serious, required her presence in his bedroom. One had to watch him at night, comfort him when he woke up, confused and disoriented by the fever. No footman, no maid could do this job. She could not burden them with such responsibility. They would not take him seriously anymore once they had seen his tears, or heard him cry out for his mother during a fever-induced dream. She was the only person who knew the real Charles Carson. He was her closest friend and therefore no one would ever know what had happened in this room since he had fallen ill. During his worst nightmares she had cried with him, held his hand, talked to him, wiped the sweat away from his forehead.

He turned his head on the pillow, opened his mouth, muttered something she did not understand.

"Shhh. You need to sleep." She stroked his damp hair, tucked away the one curl that always fell on his forehead. He had aged during the past few days. There were now more grey and silver streaks in his once dark hair than before he fell victim to the Spanish flu.

"Elsie." His voice was so quiet, hoarse from not having spoken for a long time.

"I am here." She reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. The doctor told her that he needed a lot of fluids and whenever she could, she made him drink. Carefully she held the glas to his lips but he turned his entire body away from her. The blanket she had just smoothed and tucked in around his body, loosened and exposed his feet. He started to toss and turn as his dream intensified.

"Please don't leave me," he whispered. "Please."

She reached out to gently touch his shoulder, stroked his head once more. "I am not going anywhere. I am right here."

"Elsie." Once more he called out for her, desperation and fear in his voice.

"I am here." There was no point in holding back her tears any longer. He was getting worse and she could do nothing to break the fever. In a futile attempt, she tried to turn him onto his back, but he struggled too much. By now almost the entire blanket had slipped from his body, exposing him completely. His pyjamas were soaked in cold sweat.

"Please, wake up." Elsie did not have the strength to raise her voice. The tears would not stop and she was so tired and exhausted. "Please." She reached out for him once more, shook his shoulder to wake him up. "Please."

His body started to relax. The breathing slowed down, the sudden movements stopped. He rolled on his back and opened his eyes a bit. "Mrs Hughes?"

She almost did not hear him but then he repeated her name. "Mrs Hughes?" Hastily she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

"Where am I?" His head turned towards her. Tired eyes looked at her questioningly.

"You are in your room, in your bed. You have a fever, Mr Carson." The tears threatened to fall again. He looked so fragile and lost, his grey hair mussed from sleeping, the top buttons of his pyjamas open. "I am here to look after you."

"You shouldn't," he started but was too exhausted to go on.

"I'll give you something to drink now." On more time she reached for the water, held the glass to his lips. Carefully he took a few sips from it.

"Thank you." His voice was still barely audible but he gave her a small smile before his eyes shut and he drifted back into sleep.

-x-x-x-

Dr Clarkson found her the next morning, sleeping in the armchair next to Carson's bed. She had rested her the upper body on his mattress, her head close to his chest. An uncomfortable position to sleep in but she probably would not have noticed it during the night. Carson had protectively put one arm across her body, held her close. They looked to him like an old married couple. Neither of them would ever let the other suffer alone.

He had advised against her staying with him, had told her that there were nurses he could send to take care of him. The housekeeper had refused. Now he knew why. Only she had managed to calm him down during the night, to make him rest. And when Dr Clarkson stepped nearer and felt Carson's forehead, the fever had finally broken. All would be well.

* * *

TBC _typos can go to... whatever. I hope you like this one although it was pure angst._


	9. Knowledge

_A/N_ _I've taken the liberty and put Carson's birthday in November. I also took the liberty and set this piece before the Christmas proposal happened ;) (just because I love to write interior monologue) . Sorry I didn't write anything yesterday. And THANK YOU all for your wonderful reviews so far. They make me so so so happy!  
_

**Day 12 - KNOWLEDGE**

* * *

Hand in hand the Bates's left through the backdoor like they did every night. The cottage was not far away from the main house. It was only short walk across the gardens, down the gently sloping hill towards the village and through a small grove. Anna leaned on her husband, laughing contentedly. With one hand she playfully slapped his upper arm, "Mr Bates! Seriously!" He joined her laughter. The door closed behind them and aside from the distant chatter coming from the servant's hall, Elsie was alone now. She retreated into her sitting room but did not shut the door. Sitting down at her desk, she stared at the small clock, watched how the minutes passed by. Soon the subdued laughter and talking died down. Footsteps on the stairs and 'good night' wishes indicated that the last of the staff had gone to bed. For a moment longer she remained in her room until she was sure that no one had returned downstairs.

The corridor was dark now and the only source of light was the small lamp on her desk. Elsie left it on when she slipped out of her room and into his pantry. Even in the darkness she found what she was looking for so familiar was she with everything in there. He had left the fountain pen on his desk, on the right, next to the ledger he had been working on all day. She took it and replaced it with a longish and flat box. His old pen went into the tray on the head of his desk, next to the inkwell.

-x-x-x-

Sleep did not come easy that night. She stared at the ceiling for a long time wondering if she had overstepped a limit. Their friendship was based on respect, trust and loyalty. They both knew private, secret things about the other they would never share with anyone else. He was the only person who knew about Joe Burns's proposal. Apart from Charlie Grigg, he had solely confided in Elsie how he felt about Alice. A few weeks ago she had revealed the truth about her sister. They knew so much about each other and yet there were a few things they both kept hidden. He had never spoken to her about his birthday, but after having worked side by side for so many years, she had one day figured it out by herself. November 14th was the one day when he spent at least one hour of his valuable time outside near the stables. At first she had thought he visited his parent's grave, that either his father or mother had died on that particular day, when in reality he visited the old groom's cottage. She was not proud of what she had done a few years back, following him and eavesdropping, hidden behind a huge old tree. It was not his habit to soliloquise but he did so that particular day, told his parents that he missed them on his birthday. That year was 1914 and the war had broken out only recently.

Why he kept his birthday a secret she did not know. She had smaller presents for him every year but always made them look like things that had been in his possession for some time already. Sometimes it was a book she hid between the ones he already owned, the other year she replaced the almost empty inkwell on his desk. He never noticed a pattern. This year she had changed her tradition. He knew her most well kept secret so why shouldn't she let him know that she was aware of his?

-x-x-x-

She was one of the last people to come downstairs, had been anxious to meet him before breakfast. With the servant's hall full of people he could not bluster and expose her, call her behaviour inappropriate. When she entered the room he was not there yet but someone had already poured her some tea with an extra splash of milk. It had probably been Mrs Patmore whose gaze she caught when she sat down. There was that mischievous grin on the cook's face she knew all to well.

"Good morning everyone." Everyone stood when he entered the servant's hall. He took a look around like every morning, made sure everyone was present, then sat down to her left.

"Good morning Mrs Hughes." He often wished her a good day individually but today his voice sounded different, softer, even lovingly. She bit her lip.

"Good morning to you too, Mr Carson." Her hand reached out to take her cup. The tea was slowly getting cold and the tone in his voice had made her too nervous to talk to him now. Starting with her breakfast was a good excuse to avoid conversation. But then something happened she did not expect. His hand covered her wrist and his thumb slowly caressed the back of her hand.

"Thank you for your gift."

She bit her lip again and managed a smile. He liked the new fountain pen, had obviously found his present earlier this morning, just like she had expected him to. "You're welcome."

"How did you know about it?" He let go of her hand but still held her gaze.

"Nothing stays secret for long in this house, Mr Carson." She attempted a lighter tone to cover her nervousness.

"But it will remain our secret?"

"Of course."

He turned his attention back to his tea but kept giving her small smiles all throughout breakfast. Her secret knowledge of his birthday had not compromised their friendship and it made her inexplicably happy. It was one more thing she knew about Charles Carson, one vital piece of information that made him less a butler and more a person, her friend, her very best friend.

* * *

TBC (see: no angst, no smut. heheh. boooring. I know. Let's see what happenes tomorrow...)


	10. Denial

_A/N Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! I tried to reply to as many as I could. (I usually do it early in the morning after I've just woken up - which is bad because I sometimes forget if I had replied to someone already or not ;)) Anyway, reviews make me very very happy and I thank you all for your support! _

**Day 13 - DENIAL**

* * *

The letter drops to the floor, lies at her feet now. She can no longer read the words in it. They are blurred by her tears. She could have crumpled it, thrown it away, burn it. But the shock is too deep. She is paralysed by grief, anger; feels helpless and lost, so alone. Her eyes hurt so much and the tears won't stop. She wipes them away but new ones fall down her cheeks immediately. Her throat is dry from crying out loud, swallowing is painful. Someone must have heard her shouting and yet no one has come to see if she is alright. She is so alone.

Her shoulders slump and she wants to be very small, invisible, disappear from this room. Why is no one coming to look after her? More tears fall. She closes her eyes, covers her face with her hands. Ugly sobs shake her body. She cannot stop it and she does not want it to stop. It hurts, everything hurts and she needs it to be painful, to feel the loss she has suffered physically.

-x-x-x-

He stands outside her door, his back to it. No one is allowed to go inside. He keeps them all away from her. Of course they have heard her outcry, of course they are all worried. But he knows that she has to be alone for a while, would not want anyone to see her in such a state. He even dismisses Mrs Patmore and Anna. The young lady's maid understands him, the cook does not. She stands there glaring at him, demanding to be let inside, comfort her friend. He stays strong, protective, a barrier.

Five minutes pass, fifteen, twenty. He can hear the sobs, muffled by the wooden door. She is still crying and it hurts that he cannot be at her side right now. He could simply slip inside, close and lock the door behind him. But he is not sure she wants him in there. Five more minutes pass. The sobbing has stopped, Mrs Patmore is busy in the kitchen. The maids, and whoever else still lingers around downstairs, are nowhere to be seen. Carefully he opens the door and enters the room. The key is in the lock and it clicks when he turns it around.

-x-x-x-

She can feel his presence. The floor vibrates when he approaches her. Then there is a gentle touch on her shoulder, a warm hand, a thumb caressing her neck. She still hold her head, still wants to be far away from this place. At least she is no longer alone now. He will help her, protect her, make things better. Charles turns her around in her swivel chair and she lets him, does not fight back. She is too exhausted for that. He kneels down in front of her, touches her knee, then takes away her hands, uncovers her red, sad face.

"Elsie, my love." His voice is so soft, so lovingly, a gentle caress. Tears well up in her eyes once more but this time she can share them with him. He cradles her head on his shoulder, helps her stand up. The warm embrace feels like coming home. She is no longer alone. He cries with her, rubs her back soothingly, whispers comforting words.

"They must be wrong. She can't have left me." Her voice fails her, the sobbing starts again. "I can't be alone."

"You're not alone. I'm here." He kisses the top of her head, holds her tight. "We all have to go one day. She's in a better place and she'll look down at us from her cloud."

She wraps her arms around his middle, wants to be as close to him as possible. How did she ever manage to go through the crises in her life without him? He cannot bring her sister back but he has brought _her_ back. Elsie's heart does not hurt so much anymore, the redness around her eyes will disappear soon. Slowly she loosens the embrace, looks up at him, sees the tears glistening on his cheeks. "I love you." She is on her toes, her lips touch his and they share a tender kiss. "I love you too."

* * *

TBC (tomorrow T would be appropriate me thinks ;))_ thank you for reading!_


	11. Wind and Order

_A/N soooorry. I left you without any updates for the entire weekend! And now I've combined two prompts in one chapter! (and am still one prompt behind. ts) Enjoy reading and let me know what you think. This is again a modern day AU :). (thank you for all your kind and wonderful reviews so far! 3)  
_

**Day 14 and 15 - WIND and ORDER**

* * *

"Charles! Leave it!" She sits on the bed, laughing at his attempt to close the old fashioned shutters of their windows. The rain has already soaked his shirt and hair. Whenever he has one of the shutters firmly in his hand, the wind whips it from him immediately. They are not meant to be closed from the inside, she wants to tell him that but bites back the comment that threatens to slip out. He would venture outside and actually close them that way and she does not want him to catch a cold or, even worse, pneumonia! Charles always had that weird conception of order. He hates making mistakes and gets grumpy when she knows better. She cannot have that on their romantic weekend away from busy London.

The small cottage they have rented for their Valentine's Day get-away is in the middle of nowhere. When she opened the door for the first time (which was only yesterday), Elsie felt as if they had traveled back in time, not to the Cotswolds. The house is old, skew, makes the weirdest noises now that a storm is raging outside. Rain drums against the tiny windows and lightning illuminates the bedroom every few seconds. That is the reason why Charles tries to close the shutters. His idea of a romantic Valentine's Day does not include a thunderstorm.

"Come back to bed." She uses her best seductive voice (always a good plan B). "It's getting cold in here without you."

He turns around, looks at her in the half-darkness. She can see that he is torn between finishing the useless task and joining her. Then another bolt of lightning illuminates the room and startles him so much that he shuts the window with a loud bang. Elsie laughs out loud once again. He is a sight to behold. His hair is a mess, there is a puddle on the floor where the rain has swept in through the open window. And he needs to get out of that shirt.

"But the windows?" He points over his shoulder at the culprits.

"Never mind them." She seductively plays with the shoulder strap of her nightgown, waits for his reaction. The strap falls down her shoulder and she does not bother to push it up again. For a moment, Elsie thinks about exaggeratedly rolling the "r" in his name like she had done the other night (he really liked that although she only meant it as a joke!). She would never pronounce it that way even though she's scottish and her vowels and consonants are often a bit longer and more accentuated. But then she settles on a different approach to get his attention and distract him from the stupid windows. The thunder, following the lightning from a few seconds ago, is her ally. She startles when it rumbles outside, lets out a little shriek. He is at her side immediately.

"I hate this thunderstorm." Charles hugs her to his wet chest, convinced that the noise outside has actually scared her. "We wanted a romantic weekend and what did we get?"

Elsie has troubles suppressing the laughter that threatens to escape. He is cute, her big strong protector, but sometimes he is trapped in a world of his own.

"You are wet." She mumbles. "You should get rid of that shirt."

"What did you say?" His body is tensed up, his thoughts elsewhere (probably still with the thunderstorm and the shutters).

Instead of answering his question she starts to move her hand underneath his shirt and pushes it upwards. "Undress darling." The skin is cold to her touch and she rubs little circles on his belly, lets her hand wander further upwards until she touches a more sensitive part on his chest. His breath hitches. Finally he is with her again, in this bed, not outside the house, figuring out how to protect them both from the wind and the thunder.

"What are you doing?" He releases her from the embrace but Elsie does not move her hand away, looks up into his face with a naughty smile playing on her lips.

"Seducing you on Valentine's Day?" Before he can object, she pushes him on his back and pulls the shirt over his head. "You are cold and I must warm you up." Little kisses are planted on his bare chest. She starts at his navel and moves upwards to his collarbone, neck, chin, then captures his lips in a long sensual kiss.

"And the thunderstorm?" His voice is only a whisper.

"Which thunderstorm?" Elsie kisses the tip of his nose. Another lightning strikes and this time the shriek that escapes her mouth is real. Charles is about to get up once again but she pins him down, is getting irritated by his stubbornness, his stupid need for putting everything in order.

"No, you stay here. Please, Charles." He reluctantly rests his back against the headboard now, she kneels next to him. Thunder and lightning are now much closer together than before. "We wanted to spend a weekend away, just the two of us. And this place is perfect, don't you think?"

"It is, I suppose." His gaze moves down from her face to her shoulders, her bosom, lingers there for a moment.

Elsie notices how his eyes wander. She takes a deep breath, sits up straighter, pushes her body forward a bit. One last try to seduce him. If this does not work, she'll ask for their money back the next day. Her husband has never been so distracted by a thunderstorm before or so unreceptive to her seductions. His eyes stay fixed on her breasts and then Elsie has an idea, one that will save their romantic night.

"It is the perfect place. We're far away from telephones, internet, people, the noisy city." Charles looks into her eyes again. And she can see that she has his attention now (hopefully for longer than a minute). "It's a bit like camping, isn't it? Your hair is wet because you left the tent to make sure the wind and rain don't wash it away. All spiders and bugs are scared of you." She grabs the blanket and holds it up. "All we need now is a real tent."

"We can snuggle up in it and I can warm your feet?" He grins. Finally!

"And you can protect me from the evil storm." She pulls the blanket over their heads.

"There is no storm outside." Charles hooks his finger underneath the strap of her nightgown. "And it's much too warm in our tent for you to wear a nightgown."

"Oh, but what about my cold feet?" Her toes that actually are quite cold, run along his naked shin and he shivers.

"I'll take care of them later." Inside their little blanket tent, he helps her out of her nightgown. She pushes the wet curls away from his forehead, kisses him there. Their lips meet and finally he relaxes, only concentrates on caressing her skin with his hands and tender kisses. She forgets about her cold feet. Lightning strikes and thunder rolls outside but the blanket swallows the noise and the light. It's a perfect Valentine's Night.

* * *

TBC (oh and there might be odd typos in this. I'm pretty sure of that but I cannot go through it again because writing this already took an entire day. so: if you find any, let me know via PM!)


	12. Summer

_A/N I am back. Sorry I skipped day 16 and 17 but yesterday was IMPOSSIBLE and I couldn't write a thing. Hope you enjoy this little silly ficlet. And thank you once again for all your wonderful reviews. They make me so incredibly happy.  
_

**Day 18 - SUMMER**

* * *

The house has too many rooms. All of them are hot and stuffy. She has finished cleaning three of the upstairs bedrooms, has tried to air them but it is no use. Warm air from inside meets hot air from the outside. Opening the windows makes everything even worse.

Her uniform is uncomfortable. Black, heavy cloth, long sleeves, high neck. She sweats, cannot change into something lighter until later in the day. Three more rooms to take care of until she is expected to help in the library. Work as a head housemaid: it never ends. There is always something that needs to be done.

xxx

The tie is too tight. He has trouble breathing. But he cannot loosen it. An inappropriately dressed butler serving the Earl of Grantham would be scandalous. He has to deal with the heat just like everyone else. At least he has a room in the basement where it is a bit cooler than in the drawing room or the library. His pantry is his refuge, the only place where he can breathe in this summer heat. Unfortunately he cannot go there when his coat feels too warm, when sweat runs down his back. Changing into a fresh uniform is out of question until dinner is served. The butler has certain standards to maintain, a number of tasks to fulfill throughout the day. He cannot simply leave his position just because he feels uncomfortable.

xxx

All bedrooms have been taken care of and the library is at least a bit cooler than the upstairs rooms facing southwards. Together with the other maids she helps with and supervises the cleaning of the large room. Her gaze repeatedly falls on at the large french doors overlooking the garden. How nice would it be to open them, run barefoot across the green hills, down to the lake. There would be a light breeze, cool grass underneath her feet and the promise of a refreshing swim. But her day is not over yet.

xxx

The maids are in the library. She is by the windows, looking outside, wistfully, the duster in her hand forgotten. He opens his mouth, ready to reprimand her, shuts it, follows her gaze. The lake. The one place everyone wants to be today. He cannot blame her for daydreaming when he does the same. How wonderful would it be to plunge into the water, forget the summer heat and work for a moment. But the day is still long and it will end for him way past nightfall when it is too late to stroll about the gardens to the lake. A sigh, one more look out the windows, a quick glance around. Everything's in order. He can move on.

xxx

She knows he's in the room with them, sees his reflection in the window. He stares at her, thinks she does not notice. But she knows he often looks at her, secretly. When they pass in the corridor he turns around sometimes, during meals she steals a glance at the head of the table where he sits. Often she catches him looking away, caught in the act. It is something she should not be proud of. He is the butler, she is the new head housemaid. It is her first summer here. She has been in service long enough to know the rules, to obey them, to not make a silly mistake that will cost her the job. Maybe she is tempted, by that smile, that voice, those eyes but it does not mean she'll succumb to it.

xxx

Darkness, cooler air, a light breeze. Windows are open, the back door too. Collars are loosened, tails taken off, but top buttons stay close. Mrs Patmore has made some lemonade. They share the refreshing drink after upstairs dinner is served. There is time to relax a bit until everyone is send to bed. She has decided to go outside, left her apron and cap on the hook by the door. After a short walk across the yard, she takes the risk, does what she has thought of all day. No one will ever find out. In a dark corner she takes off her shoes and stocking, walks across the sandy pass towards the green, cold grass. What a wonderful feeling. She closes her eyes, enjoys how the grass tickles her feet, spins around in a circle. The lake is too far away but the meadows behind the house are just perfect for now.

xxx

It's her joyful laughter that gives her away. He can hear it from beyond the brick wall that surrounds the courtyard. He hesitates. Wants to follow her, has to stay close to the house, cannot be seen in the night alone with the head housemaid. Curiosity gets the better of him. He follows the laughter, soon sees how she is walking down towards the pastures, a spring in her step, laughter on her lips. She stops, looks up into the sky. He follows her example. There are stars everywhere. Such a beautiful sight. He cannot remember when he has last seen Ursa Major or Cassiopeia. Fascinated he stares at the sky.

"Enjoy the night, Mr Carson." He jumps, has not heard her coming. There is a bright smile on her face.

"You too, Elsie." That's all he can say before she walks past him, shoes and stockings in her hand. The night sky is no longer important. This is a summer day and night to remember.

* * *

TBC (oh oh, haven't checked for typos. I might jump in my tenses (past perfect, present perfect, past tense... etc.) sometimes. Hope I didn't...


	13. Tremble

_A/N And this is probably the last prompt I'm going to write. I thank you for supporting me and making writing fun again and I'll be back with multichapter fics soon (hopefully...)_

**Day 20 - TREMBLE**

* * *

Her bottom lip trembled slightly, tears threatened to spill. She tried to control her emotions, bit down on her lip, folded her hands in front of her, pressed them together to stop them from shaking. Her efforts were for naught. She could feel the unwanted tears on her cheeks, on the back of her hands when they dropped down from her chin.

How many years had she prayed for this to happen, that one day the anxious waiting would be over. There had been so many obstacles to overcome, so many detours along the way. A few months ago she had already given up any hope, thought that some people were obviously doomed to never have any happiness in their lifes. The sudden realization hit her hard and she decided that no matter what, she would try and make the best of it. It was not the first time that life had disappointed her.

But now the one thing she had thought impossible was happening, right in front of her. And it made her so incredibly happy that she could not move or say anything. She was not often lost for words, could count the situations it had happened on the fingers of one hand (when he had told her about his life on stage; the night Lady Sybil died; the day they lost William; the afternoon Lord Grantham told them about the war…). With the back of her hand, she wiped away some of the tears that already began to blur her vision. It proved to be a useless effort until he handed her his spotless white handkerchief. She tried to dry her eyes, cheeks, tried to calm down a bit. Not only for her sake but for everyone in the room. None of them had ever seen her in such a state, so overcome with emotions. Some smiled at her, others fought back their own tears.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. Without him at her side she would have collapsed already. Now she could lean her body against his broad chest and hold his hand. Slowly her tears dried and they were replaced by a beaming, happy smile. The trembling stopped and she felt like herself again.

"Why don't you hold her, Mrs Carson?" Anna asked. The little bundle in her arms, wrapped in a soft, knitted, white blanket, was fast asleep. Two tiny pink hands were all they could see of the newborn daughter. John sat on the bed, next to his wife and took the baby out of her arms. "You'll be her godmother and I want her to meet you."

Elsie bit down on her lip once more. She had always supported Anna and John, had always been there when they needed her. She had comforted Anna after the attack, took care of her while her husband was imprisoned, fought for Anna's innocence, comforted the girl whenever she was sick. And now they had offered her this wonderful gift. A little girl, two days old, a miracle, the child they had waited for for such a long time was finally born. Elsie had sat with Anna throughout the night, had held her hand, wiped away the sweat, gave her water to drink while Dr Clarkson took care of everything esle.

"Say hello to your grandma and grandpa." John Bates whispered to the sleeping child before he put her into Elsie's arms. The small button nose, fair blonde hair, tiny fingers and lips were perfect. Once more the tears started to fall. Once more Charles was there to hold her when he wrapped his arms around her waist and looked over her shoulder at the little baby girl in her arms.

"She is perfect." Elsie whispered. "And a miracle."

"Grandma." He kissed her cheek. "And grandpa."

From their place on the bed, Anna and John watched the couple who was completely enthralled. They had made the right decision. Their daughter would grow up surrounded by love.


End file.
